


The Adventures of Jackieboy-Man

by God0fRa



Category: jacksepticeye, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, Supervillain, alternative universe, comic book, jacksepticeye - Freeform, superhero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God0fRa/pseuds/God0fRa
Summary: In the lively city of Bossatronia there is one name that strikes fear into villains: Jackieboy-man. Jackie Jasper, a young man has settled into his role as the Superhero for the city, to face off against any threat to the people. Perhaps, he is about to face his greatest challenge yet!Join along and follow the story of everyone's favorite superhero and the lovable Egos of Jacksepticeye in a comic book-esk setting!
Kudos: 5





	1. The Strange Reading

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the Adventures of Jackieboy-man! This is a small little thing that came up after looking at a whole lot of JSE ego stuff. Since I'm /much/ better at writing than drawing comics, this was born!
> 
> Let me know what you think! I'll be posting more over time on a sporadic schedule.

Every hero has their villain, their arch nemesis that always has a way of evading capture and coming back to ruin the day. There is always a super villain for the superhero. 

Yet, he does not have his arch nemesis—well, more he does not know who his nemesis is. There are many who face against him, yet none bear the cruelty of the one who he has begun to label as his nemesis. Whoever this person is, they are a real piece of work. 

A couple of villains would mention seeing a figure and having a quick conversation with somebody, but it was never enough to get a full description nor knowing the name. Only thing he knows about the supervillain is he has accomplices around the city, and he is highly sadistic and cruel. 

The lively city of Bossatronia bustles with people going back and forth from work, living their lives until the day a person decides to play villain. For a while there was a time where crime would prevail, the police force rather lacking in their skills to be unable to handle those with supernatural powers. Of course, that is until Jackieboy-man came into the picture. 

Ever since he was a kid, Jackie Jasper wanted to be a hero, to make an impact on the world. That dream came true when his parents revealed a secret to him: they were superheroes and when he got out of high school, he too would be able to become one. Once his powers kicked into full-drive a few years before he graduated, Jackie began his training under another superhero on the side of doing high school. 

It was like a dream come true! 

With his friends unaware of his superhero status, it became difficult to balance the two, ending up in a fight with some bullies and lost despite his training. 

When he came into the world as a hero, he was focused on never failing. 

"Jackie, come in." The voice echoes from the earpiece nestled inside his ear, a familiar voice. 

Jackie lifts his hand, pressing the button on the device to turn on the microphone, "This is Jackieboy-man, what's up Doc?" Deep blue eyes scan the area below him from the perch above the tall building. Church bells ring in the distance, signifying the coming of the evening. Five chimes, that means it is five in the evening. Usually the time something happens. 

Many villains preferred the cover of darkness to do their nefarious deeds. He knows why, since with the darkness they are hidden from sight until they want to be seen. Dastardly deeds are done in such cowardly ways and with so many theatrics. Some villains are way too theatrical, while others are more on point—he cannot decide which he prefers since both have their cons and pros. 

At least he had help from back at base, so he is not going in completely blind. 

Back at the base is his companion, the one who gathers the intelligence and who patches up the various wounds obtained in each battle. It has been a long time since he has had to have wounds patched from a lost battle though—that was against one of the most dangerous villains out there, a powerful magician specializing in dark magic. 

The doctor is the hero's dear friend as well, a childhood friend and one of the few to know the connection between Jackie Jasper and Jackieboy-man. Dr. Henrink von Schneeplestein, a very intelligent, good surgeon and doctor. After a complication with his accountant Peter, Henrik went completely underground, staying at the base to assist in gathering intel and being there for mending wounds. 

There is nobody else he would trust with his life than Henrik von Schneeplestein—or the nickname the doctor hates to be called "The Schneep." Jackie loves calling him that not only to rile up the doctor but because it sounds like a superhero—but also supervillain—name. He also loves to joke that Henrik could make a good supervillain. 

"I've gotten reports of some razher odd happenings around zhe eastern side." Henrik hums, pulling from one computer monitor to the other, observing the screen as he scribbles down some notes. The screen pops up with a few readings, a spike showing up as he speaks, "Similar readings to vhen that motherfucka came around—that one magician bastard." 

Hard to forget an encounter like that, as well as the readings. That magician is nothing to laugh at or take lightly. The scar across his shoulder is a bleak reminder of the magician's overwhelming abilities. 

"Really?" Jackieboy's eyes widen a bit in surprise. It has been a couple years since such that villain had reared his head. Was the magician out of hiding for a reason and causing such a ruckus? "Well, sounds like it would be a good time to check it out!" 

It could be bad to say he gets excited when something comes up, but otherwise it is rather dull having nothing to do. When there is a problem, he is confident he can take it down! Though. . . less confident when it is going against the one that had royally kicked his arse a while ago. But he has grown since then. 

A grappling gun is pulled out from the pouch attached to his belt, "Keep track of the readings and let me know if there are any changes." 

"Be careful, Jackie," Henrik reminds, "I don't vant to have to patch up zhose wounds again like last time. Zhose things vere a bitch to heal." 

The hook shoots into the air, attaching to another building before the hero jumps, swinging through the air. Once at the peak of the arch, he retracts the hook and soars through the sky. 

It is a beautiful city alight with the streetlamps below and the dying lights of the tall buildings. It is a metropolis that is lively even at night. Below there are a few people on the streets, some looking up at the soaring hero. 

Like many comic book heroes, Jackieboy-man is admired by the people, a savoir for those who cannot fend for themselves and the decimator of evildoers. 

A small wave is given to the people below and a few waves back. At least he is not like Spiderman and having the media trying to paint him as a villain. 

If these readings are indeed the magician, he is up for a nasty fight. Who knows what he is in for with this—even if he has grown, it could also mean the villain has as well. 

A few minutes into his soaring, Henrik's voice interrupts the rushing wind as the only sound in his ear, "Zhere's another odd reading." 

"What do you mean?" 

Blue eyes widen in shock as his screens start to glitch out, one going on the frits, the image beginning to distort and twist before the screen returns to normal. Another becomes highly pixelated with a blur and a high-pitched static sound echoing out, "How the. . ." He quickly slides over to the keyboard, beginning to furiously type. 

"Schneep, what is going on?!" Jackie snaps, trying to get the doctor out of his hyper-focus, "Talk to me!" 

Another pause happens before he talks again, "I don't know if zhat vas somebody trying to get into zhe system, but somezhing very odd happened to my computers. Like somebody vas hacking in. But zhat's impossible—my security is impenetrable!" There's another pause, "Focus on the readings, zhey are still high but have moved a bit more north zhan vhere it vas before." 

"Alright. . ." It is worrisome that somebody could be hacking into their systems, but currently he must focus on the task at hand. This villain must be stopped before people get hurt.


	2. The Mysterious Magician

“You really think he will be foolish enough to come here?” A laugh rises out of the figure, a dramatic flip of the cape as a hand raises into the air, “I highly doubt he would forget how badly he failed the performance last time!” 

“Don’t underestimate the dear hero,” A second voice coos, the shape completely shrouded in shadows, “Seems your decimation of him all those years ago has ignited a flame within him to train even harder. . .” There is a pause, the figure’s attention turning towards the west-side of the city, “I’ve heard he’s got a rather special partner in heroic deeds, one that could prove difficult for us.” 

The first one laughs, brushing fingers over his dark mask, “Please! If you mean that fool who devotes his life to that pitiful science, he will be no match for me, not now that we know his weaknesses.” 

“Now now, don’t let your arrogance get in the way my dear,” The voice purrs, a hand reaching out to cup the other’s cheek—fingers slipping beneath the mask, “I have to go meet with some possible assistants in our plans. One is an acquaintance of an old friend and could prove useful in dealing with this annoying hero.” 

“If he survives my magic this time,” the magician chuckles, subtly leaning into the touch before it brushes away, “Don’t worry darling, I will succeed just like last time.” 

The other hums as hestep back into the shadows, “Just don’t get yourself killed or captured. If things go south—” he gives a look to the other, “—and I only mean if not when—get yourself out. I wouldn’t want my partner in crime to get hurt too badly or be at the mercy of the authorities.” 

He grins, waving a hand as a teal glow encases his hand, “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to do any of that tonight. I will not tell the dear hero anything but what is necessary. Good luck on your objective, my dear.” When his words finish, a cold wind brushes past. 

Alone, for now, but not for long. Heroes are so predictable with their desire to go after anything that has potential to be dangerous. Like a moth to the flame the hero will come to him. 

Teal eyes turn as an energy is caught in his senses—a powerful energy that could only belong to one hero. Good, so they can have their second showdown. He shifts, turning around the face the direction. A smirk curls his lips, adjusting the mask on his face, “Round two hero. Let us see who takes the gold.” He glances over his shoulder, still grinning as he looks to the figure tied up and propped against the wall. 

“Let’s see what he values more: catching a villain or saving a civilian.” 

Attention returns forward when the sound of weight hitting the ground. Eyes observe the figure as he stands up, deep blue eyes narrowed in anger. Superhero landing. Of course. 

“Well, well!” Arms dramatically raise from his sides, palms facing towards the sky, “It has been far too long, little hero! It has been so unfortunate that our paths have taken so many twists and turns that it took years for us to meet again!” He shifts into giving a bow, the bow at the brink of the performance's start. 

“Not long enough,” Jackie grimaces, shifting into a ready stance with fists held up. 

Henrik’s voice rises in his ear, “Zhat voice. . . I’ve heard it before.” 

“Ready for another round of an arse kicking?” The magician chuckles, teal smoke seeping from his body, settling onto the ground before stretching out to cover the ground. He begins to pace back and forth, small little paths as the stern eyes remain on Jackieboy, “This performance will be free of charge and will require audience participation!” He lets out a cackle before from the smoke rises multiple knives, encased in the teal glow. 

“I know zhat voice!” Henrik gasps, rolling his chair towards another computer and quickly typing to pull up a file, “It can’t be!” He pulls up the file, staring at the picture in shock, “He should have been dead.” 

“What are you talking about?” Jackieboy whispers trying so the villain cannot hear. 

He heard, scoffing, “Who are you talking to. . .? Do you not know it is rude to talk during a performance?!” 

“I know zhis villain!” Henrik frowns, “Marvin zhe Magnificent! He vas once a showman, mostly specializing in illusions and tricks until he had a nasty accident. All traces of him vanished after zhe accident, even memories of him, but I cannot mistake that voice. Zhat is him; zhat is Marvin zhe Magnificent.” 

Marvin, huh? 

“Marvin the Magnificent,” Jackie says aloud, watching as the villain pauses, standing up a bit straighter, “That’s who you are.” 

“Huh,” Marvin lets his gaze fall into a half-lidded stare, “Didn’t expect you to know that. I’d say that was before you showed up on the map as a precious little hero.” There is a moment he simply studies the hero—lasting only a brief time before he raises his hands again, the knives floating up again, “Doesn’t matter. It will not interrupt the performance and the finale of you running with your tail between your legs, if you are lucky to do so!” 

Without another chance to speak, the knives shift to point directly at him, “Let me make sure you get the point!” The glow grows brighter before a few of them are flung at the hero. 

“Ugh, he’s making puns, I hate it when they make puns,” Jackieboy rolls his eyes, quickly flipping over the thrown knives before landing, “You are going to have to try harder than that.” 

“Is that so?” Marvin grins as he leans to the side, pointing behind the hero, “Might want to double check.” He giggles as the hero turns around and lets out a yelp as he barely ducks as the knives fly right back toward him. With that another pair are launched at the hero. Another set is thrown not too long after, wanting to see how well the hero can dodge. 

It’s not difficult for the hero, his quick dexterity kicking in as he ducks from the first two then flipping to the left to avoid the other two—a similar set of actions as the blades turn and head on the trajectory to return to the magician. 

“Hmn, not half bad. By now you’d already be bleeding.” There is no hint of sincerity in the magician’s voice—perhaps a hint of annoyance. If he was expecting an easy battle, he is in for a surprise. 

Jackie smirks, “I’m not the reckless kid I once was.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, preparing to lunge, “I’m not going to be the one running with my tail between my legs, Whiskers.” With that he lunges forward, catching the magician by surprise. 

“How dare you call me—” the magician starts but is cut off. 

Jackieboy’s fist collides with Marvin’s gut, knocking the wind out of him before moving back and swinging a kick at the head. Before his foot can collide with the skull, the target vanishes into thin air, puffs of teal smoke all that remains. 

“Nice try,” Marvin laughs from behind, waiting for Jackieboy to turn around before socking him in the face—the magic empowering the blow. It causes the hero to go back a few feet and landing on his arse, “Honestly if you think this is more of a match for me than last time, the reviews are saying differently!” 

“Henrik, check out the file, maybe there is something about a weakness or at least something to help.” Jackie coughs, getting back up onto his feet. He swipes his thumb over his lips, wiping away the bit of blood trickling from the break in his lips. Damn magician. He doesn't look like he could pack a punch but that magic sure is a doozy. 

He lunges forward again, closing the distance quickly as he aims another punch at the villain. Brilliant light forms into small barriers in front of Marvin's hands, an obstacle to catch the force of the punch like padding. 

Punch after punch is blocked with magic, Marvin chuckling as he swings his hand up, taking the hero's arm with. Then, with inhuman speed he delivers a kick directly to Jackie's gut. Quickly following he pushes forward, his knee colliding with the hero's face. Bits of blood splash up into the air from his nose, a droplet landing on the magician's cheek. 

“Jackie,” Henrik calls out, “It may be a swing, but usually magicians have a source for zheir magic—a conduit for it. Most likely. . .” He scans the picture on file of Marvin the Magnificent and the information put in, “He doesn’t seem to use a vand, which means it’s possible zhat mask could be enchanted.” It is a chance to be wrong, but if Jackie is having issues beating the magician, it could turn the tides. 

“Hit the mask, right.” Jackie gives himself space between himself and the villain, coughing as the air returns to his lungs. It's getting dicey for him; he needs to end this before he ends up seriously hurt or dead. Marvin is still a challenge, but this time he isn't in this alone. 

“Guess we will be starting the final act,” Marvin tsks, summoning sparkling lights of teal and hints of green, arching lines that explode into sparks, “I’ll have to disappoint my dear with how quickly you fell. It is time!” He closes both hands together, the ground starting to shake around him. 

His dear? Jackie braces himself as the tremors grow stronger. What does he mean by 'his dear' will be disappointed? 

When Marvin parts his hands sparks of magic scatter around, buzzing around like fireflies fleeing from a predator. They quickly dart around, beginning to form into a shape behind the magician. 

“Say hello to my final act!” He laughs, throwing his head back as arms raise above his head. The light takes shape, a chimera of a tiger and a griffin, roaring as the wings flutter up a strong gust of wind, “Your death!” As his words finish, the magical creature lunges from behind—Marvin ducking down as it launches over his head. 

“Shite!” Jackie barely moves from the claws shredding his chest, one catching his shoulder as it tears through the jumpsuit and breaking skin. He hisses in pain, hand pressing against the wound. 

He really needs to get at the magician and knock his mask off. 

“Fight and run dear hero. Time is running out to let out your final shout!” Marvin laughs, forming a glow in his palm. 

Jackie moves, dive-rolling out of the way of another attack from those deadly claws and sliding behind a rock. He needs to think fast otherwise he will not be able to think anymore. There must be a way to get at the magician while avoiding that creature. 

Glancing over, he notices the orb swirl around the magician. In a quick stride he lunges at the villain, only for his face to be met with a magical barrier, "Shite!” Hot pain seers his skin, ducking down from another attack before diving behind a boulder. 

“This is like some god damn boss battle.” Jackie mumbles, shifting as he hides behind the boulder. Blue flames blast against the other side of the rock, licking against the stone surface and threatening to roast the man across from it. He can't get close to Marvin with that barrier, he's too aware of his location. If he can do something the other does not expect. . . 

An idea pops into his head, quickly pulling out his grappling hook. This had better work, he has got one shot. Taking a deep breath, he readies the weapon, waiting for the flames to cease. The moment it stops, he springs into action. 

Jackieboy jumps up onto the boulder, dodging left as he avoids the large tail from slamming upon him. Rolling, his adjusts to being on one knee close to the ground. Without a sound he aims the hook square at the magician’s face and fires. 

The hook soars through the air, not enough time given to the villain to react before it slams into his face. Falling, Marvin’s head jerks back, the mask flies a few inches away as his body crashes against the ground. 

With the mask gone, the beast lets out a loud howl before it explodes into teal sparks and spreading into the air. Then, it settles into silence. That was damn lucky. 

Marvin groans, sitting up and gently touching the afflicted ares of his face. Retracting his hand as if touching a hot stove he grimaces. That would be sore later— 

Eyes widen when he realizes there is no mask covering his face! No! He quickly stands up, summoning a bit of magic—not nearly as bright as before—as Jackie moves closer, “Don’t you dare come closer!” He snaps, some of the cockiness fading away. 

Jackie frowns, noticing how the magician looks. From beneath the mask he looks just like an ordinary man. There is an odd heterochromia with one eye a bright teal while the other is an emerald green. A nasty looking scar runs across his right eye, breaking through his eyebrow and down past his cheek. There is also a bit of scars on his left cheek from what could be left over from fire. After the fight, his hair is a mess, falling out of the bun showing how longer it is and the teal tips to the brown strands. 

He looks so. . . human. He looks around Jackie’s age. . . 

How could a human do such things as he has heard the magician do? How could he use his awe-striking gift for such cruel things? 

Marvin hisses, brushing long hairs back out of his face, “Guess we will have an encore.” He straightens himself out, grabbing hold of his torn cape to cover part of his body and face. When he moves it, dramatically flipping it to the side. The air distorts like a heatwave from the cape, the scenery shifting and morphing to bring forth a figure slumped against the ruins of an old temple. 

Behind the magician is a person, one who seems to be in bad shape from fresh cuts and bruises. Unconscious for who knows how long and how close he could be to death. 

“Make a choice, hero.” Marvin states, the bit of fear from before fading into annoyance, “You can either chase after me or save that poor fool. Are you willing to risk the life to take me down?” He pauses before pulling a hat from his cape. An all too familiar hat that has speckles of blood on the gray surface. 

It is thrown down onto the ground between them, “Are you willing to sacrifice an old friend?” His sneer quickly shifts to a grin, watching the hero's eyes grow wide in shock and fear for his friend, “Your decision.” 

In a blink of an eye Marvin vanishes before appearing to Jackie's left, “I have a date night to get to with my dear associate. Feel free to follow if you want to sacrifice your friend. I know _he_ has been dying to meet you in person. I've taken all the fun of getting encounters with you! But, alas, I know how you hero types work. Can't sacrifice the dear friend to catch a villain! How cliche!” 

He watches with intent as Jackie quickly debates in his mind before rushing to the tied-up man. He snorts, pulling up his cape to cover his body, “Tch, typical.” And then, he vanishes into a puff of smoke. 

That does not matter to Jackie at the moment, only the other person matters. Though, his mind registers the emphasis on “he” as the magician talked. Is this he the nemesis he's been searching for? 

The last little distance is slid before being in front of the other. Hands pull at the restraints around the other's wrists, using his super strength to pull apart the ropes. Then comes the legs before the captive is free. 

“Chase!” Jackie gently shakes the other, two fingers pressing against the neck. A small pulse thrums against the skin, weak but still present, “Hold in the buddy!” Taking Chase into his arms her stands and turns. 

Right before leaving something catches his attention. 

Marvin's mask. He left it behind? Moving quickly, he swipes up the mask before launching himself into the sky, “Schneep, be ready to help, I'm bringing in somebody who will need immediate medical attention.” 

“You cannot bring in a random stranger to zhe base!” Henrik snaps, “It is not called a ‘secret base' for zhe hell of it! He needs to be taken to a hos—” 

“Schneep, it's Chase!” 

A pause of silence. 

“Bring him in, quickly. I vill have a table ready for him.” 

* * *

“My dear!” He frowns, watching as Marvin drags himself into the room, “You look dreadful.” He moves closer, catching the other before he could collapse. Slowly, he leads him to the nearby couch, setting him down gently before scanning over him, “Did it go according to plan?” 

Marvin scoffs lightly, taking hold of the hand pressed against his chest and giving it a soft kiss, “I would have rather not taken a hook to the face, but other than that it went the way we wanted.” 

“You did wonderful my magician,” the other coos gently, running his fingers through the long hair, “He took both?” 

A nod in response, “Took both my mask and the weakling. Even if one is not taken directly with him, we will still get what we want. Also," He creates a small vial in his hand before raising it to his cheek. The bit of blood from the fight slips into the crystal container, "Got a little extra." 

“And we will get your mask back. Only I can stare at your face.” The figure hums, pressing a deep kiss onto Marvin's lips, “Now, get cleaned up, we have a date.” He swipes the vial, grinning wide, "This will be perfect for what I need!" 

“What about your task?” Marvin hums back, “Were you successful in recruiting them?” 

He chuckles before snapping his fingers, “Oh yes, quite successful.” As he finishes the doors open and two figures step in, “Gentlemen, why don't you introduce yourselves.” 

The slightly shorter one pulls at his suspenders, his nose twitching slightly. He has longish black hair and an obnoxiously pink moustache, wearing an odd light-yellow shirt and brown pants with the suspenders a pink. An odd attire for an eccentric man. 

“A pleasure, it is. My name is Wilford Warfstache, and this is my partner in crime, Jameson Jackson.” The man next to him wears a vest and a black bowler hat, the tips of his hair a pale teal that nearly lacks any color. Much like his partner in crime he is got a pronounced moustache but is a dark brown rather than pink. 

Jameson gives a silent wave in greetings and offers a smile. Seems rather innocent for being in this line of work. 

“He's a real sweetheart once you get to know him,” Wilford laughs as he snaps his suspenders—whining a bit about the pain from the action, “But he's not much of a talker. Good at sneaking around and getting into places you don't want him in, like your fridge at night.” 

His companion huffs, angrily signing at Wilford, ‘That was my piece of pie and you know it!’ “Lies and slander!” Wilford turns to Jameson, one hand balled on his hip while the other points an accusing finger at Jameson. 

“Hey, fuckers,” The calm demeanor of Marvin's partner snaps, the growled voice getting the argument to cease immediately. Once eyes are back on him, he calms, “You are here for a task not to bicker and waste our time!” The voice remains harsh, “If you are not up to it, I can give the job to another.” 

The dapper man punches Wilford's arm before turning to the two, ‘We will take the assignment.’ 

“Good,” Marvin purrs as he tosses a small device to Jameson, “We need you to follow this tracker and pick up a certain somebody from the location, and one of my belongings—” at the current moment, both of them are shrouded in darkness save for the slight glow of a pair of eyes and then a single one, “—it will not be difficult to get there but getting out may be difficult. One of you must play distraction for the dear hero, Jackieboy-man, while the other goes in and gets his doctor, and my mask.” 

“Jackieboy-man you say?” An eyebrow raises on Wilford's forehead, “You mean that hero that has gone around ruining all my parties? Red suit, blue mask and almost glowing deep blue eyes like the ocean as the sun sets to night and stare with strength but also some tenderness hidden beneath?” He huffs at the nod of confirmation, “How do you expect us to get into his base when they are called ‘secret bases' for a reason? He’s not stupid like the Silver Sheppard.” 

Jameson gives Wilford a look for the rather detailed description of the hero's eyes. 

“Despite you saying your partner in crime can get into anywhere,” the figure snorts at this as Marvin waves his hand, “You just follow the smell of magic and use the fucking device your partner has.” A brief teal aura surrounds the two, “Follow it and you will find the mask and the hero's hideout. Bring the mask back and the doctor, and you will get your reward.” 

“Now,” a hand waves to shoo off the two, “Go. I'm losing my patience.” The two exchange a look before leaving, their conversation about the pie coming up again, plus an “ow" from Wilford—probably punched again. 

He sighs, standing up as he growls in anger, “I grow tired of playing nice and calm!” He seethes a bit, only to relax tensed muscles at the touch of the magician, “Though. . . that Jameson could be a wonderful candidate for the experiment—we just need somebody who can do the procedure. . .” 

“Don't worry, my love, soon enough we will have the hero weakened without his doctor friend and then there will be no more need to be nice. All these others, they are just lambs to the slaughter, a prop in the show that is not needed in the end. Now,” he takes the other's hand pulling him closer, “How about that date?”


	3. The Sushi Interruption

Jackieboy-man rushes into the base, heading straight to Henrik's lab. With the doc not at his usual spot starting at the screens he hopes the other is in the lab. During the flight back he felt his company move but nothing more than a few times of shifting ever so slightly. At least that means Chase is still alive.

He rushes into the lab, relieved to find Schneep standing next to the medical table with gloves and mask already on, “Set him down, quickly.” Jackie nods and quickly sets Chase down onto the cold surface, “Do you know how long he's been unconscious?”

“No, I didn't see him until Marvin pointed him out,” there was a feeling he had that somebody was near, but it was also messed up by the magician's magic. How could he not know Chase was there?! “I don't know how long he's been out, but he was moving a bit while I was flying back here.”

Schneep frowns, already checking their guest over with his stethoscope, “His heart is vorking but veak and his breathing sounds off. . . He may have fluid in his lungs.” Schneep glances to Jackie, “Please, step outside, I need to get him under and open him up and deal with the bleeding and fluids.” He does the shooing motion with both hands, giving Jackie a stern look, “No complaints allowed. Out!”

There is no choice for the hero but to leave, “Vhy don’t you head out and get dinner? You’ve been vorking all day and into the evening, you need to eat somezhing.” More of an excuse to get Jackie out of the base for a while, but the growl of the hero’s stomach agrees with the command to get food.

“Please, text me when you’re done,” Jackie frowns before leaving the lab, setting down the mask on one of the nearby tables. He trusts Schneep with his life, and he trusts him to do everything to save Chase.

Chase is their childhood friend, somebody that was there during Henrik’s divorce, there after the accident, and they were there for Chase during his divorce with Stacy. He cannot die, not like this.

"Take some of the antiseptic solution over there and pour it on that vound on your shoulder," Schneep adds, motioning towards the counter nearby the door, "It vill heal it since zhat one looks like zhe worst of zhem all."

Sighing, Jackie swipes up the solution before heading to the backrooms, pulling out his civilian attire to change into. Stripping off the suit and pulling off the under armor he neatly folds them and places the outfit on the nearby bench. 

Schneep needs to focus on Chase. Jackie can wait until later. He pries the cap off the bottle, grimacing at the strong alcohol and chemical smell from the solution. Schneep's mixtures always had such unpleasant smells, something he needs to seriously work on, but they always did their job.

Teeth grit from the pain as the liquid is poured onto the wound. Not the worst pain he's felt but the mixture of the antiseptic solution and the magic is a rather unpleasant feeling. At least it will heal.

Tossing aside the empty bottle the focus returns to dressing himself.

First on is the socks and then one leg after the other into the dark blue jeans. The black boots are slipped on easily, pressed over the ends of the jeans. Then, the black t-shirt that has the symbol of his favorite band on it, a rock band that he always has playing when driving around town or training his skills. Finally, his red hoodie is pulled over, snug against his torso and arms. The complete ensemble of a normal human—or at least a superhuman disguised as a normal human.

He loves the hoodie, a warm reminder of the past and the graduation gift from his parents.

The last thing he ever got from them.

Sighing, Jackie turns and heads out the back exit of the base, going down to his favorite sushi place. It is a small little shop squished between other places—a clothing shop on the north side and a little gift shop on the south. The streets are usually packed with people, one of those paths where cars do not go down rather marks for traffic of pedestrians. This is one of the more popular areas of Bossatronia, a mall all outside nestled beneath a huge canopy. It is a great place to hang out, a few blocks away from the local high school. Yet, the evenings are time for those who are older, the happy hours going into the late evenings.

And then there's the little sushi place, usually quiet at the front with customers happily chowing down on their food.

The door chimes as he enters, only a few patrons inside finishing up their meals. Jackie offers the owner a smile, a nod to her husband as he walks past, “Hey, Jackie!” She greets him as he sits down at the counter, “You’re here pretty late compared to most other times—but, the usual for you?”

“Thanks,” Jackie nods, looking over as the husband walks over, “How’s business been today for you two?”

“Pretty slow really.” She shrugs, “We were able to bring the dogs in here for a bit and they were a blast for the customers.”

Jackie’s shoulders deflate, “Awh, I missed Ginger and Presley? Molly, how could you do this to me?”

Molly laughs, “Sorry Jackie, Wade came in with them, but they had to get home since they wore themselves out. Maybe tomorrow.” Her focus shifts to continuing to work on the order, “You also missed Seán, he was in earlier with Mark, Tyler and Ethan.”

“Damn.” Usually when the group came around, especially when dragging in Wade and Bob accompanying them, some sort of hectic fun would happen. All but Ethan are older than Jackie, Schneep and Chase, just by a year. Then, Ethan is two years younger than them but just as ready to take on the world. 

It has been such a long time since he has even seen any of them.

Wade walks up next to Jackie, holding out a piece of paper, “Seán did leave this for you.” Jackie thanks him as he takes the slip of paper, “Molly, Imma head home to let the dogs out.” He leans over the bar and gives her a kiss before waving goodbye, “Nice to see you again, Jackie.”

“Nice to see you too, Wade!” Jackie grins and waves as the tall man leaves. He glances at the letter, yet to open it up to look at the contents. His attention turns up, a plate placed in front of him, the wonderful smell of sushi wafting into his nostrils, “Oh, this smells amazing—” he laughs, “—as always of course.”

Molly smiles, “Thanks. Can I trust you to not take anything while I go into the back and get a few things?” The other patrons have left, leaving their payment and tip on the tables to be picked up. The last one leaves, the old woman giving her thanks and gently shutting the door behind her.

He crosses a finger over his heart, “Promise. But I don’t exactly promise I won’t take a bit of fish.” Situating, he picks up one of the sushi rolls, dipping it into soy sauce before popping it into his mouth. Molly slips into the back, a few rustling sounds before it fades into silence. The radio is off with it being the weaning hours of being open. Just Jackie there with his thoughts and his sushi.

The paper sits beneath his hand, a message yet to be read. There is a nagging in the back of his head, a demand to have the message read. It is starting to become a habit of his to just miss talking with Seán. Maybe one day they can talk with each other besides over messages here and there.

Chimes ring out into the air, the shop door opening. There is an unspoken rule that wanders around Bossatronia to never enter a store that sells food if they are ten minutes before closing unless you are getting takeout. So, why is this person here when there is only five minutes before closing?

Jackie glances over, eyebrows furrowing at the visitor. He is familiar, it is hard not to recognize the obnoxious pink moustache. What is that wannabe villain doing here?

Wildford sits down next to Jackie, looking him over before giving him a strange smile, “Hello!” He places his hand on the table, leaning over and then towards Jackie, “You look familiar. . .”

Jackie glances away, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He plucks up another sushi roll and shoves it into his mouth to avoid taking to the odd man.

Wilford persists, getting even closer to Jackie, “No, you know exactly what I’m talking about—” he lowers his voice so only the two of them can hear despite the shop being empty, “—Jackieboy-man.”

He nearly chokes on the sushi roll, coughing as a bit of the rice goes down the wrong tube. When he's recovered after a few more coughs, Jackie glares at him.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not somebody who holds grudges,” the wannabe villain shrugs, moving to run his fingers along his moustache. The looks he is given says the hero does not believe him, “What? Okay mayybbeee I hold grudges but right now I don’t feel like going through with it.” As a hand reaches for the sushi it is slapped away, “Alright, alright, no taking the sushi. You hero types can be real mean.”

“Can you shut up?” Jackie snaps. For being completely out of it most of the time, Wilford can be quite observational. The big problem with people like him—ones who are unique compared to the normal civilian—is they can sometimes see through the special disguise superheroes have. This man seems especially good at it, one who can recognize faces without much effort, but then again sometimes he can completely forget somebody. 

Not even Schneeplestein could figure out what's going on inside that man's head.

There is always a reason why superheroes can go looking like a normal person without the connections being made. It is part of the craft—the craft of designing the outfits and enchanting it so the connection cannot be made between the hero and the civilian. Luckily, he is best friends with the couple that crafts these garments—the very couple who run the shop he is in.

If only it remained just Henrik, Wade and Molly to know Jackie Jasper is Jackieboy-man; now he must add on the strange man named Wilford Warfstache to that list.

“Why are you here if you are not here to gripe or get your revenge for the times I have ruined your ‘parties’?” Jackie grimaces, taking a sip of his drink before turning to the other, “You are also in a very dangerous place for being a villain, mind you.” This place functions as both a sushi restaurant but also a hang out for heroes and the front of the couple's business of creating enchanted items such as his clothing.

“Oh it’s fine,” Wilford waves his hand, “I’m just here to do a bit of chatting and keeping you preoccupied while—” he slaps his hand over his mouth, stopping himself from saying anymore.

“Keeping me preoccupied while what?!” The hero stands up quickly, the stool falling over as his hand grabs hold of the shirt collar of the other, “What the hell are you talking about?” The other shakes his head quickly, whining from behind the hand.

“Answer me!” He snaps, raising one hand in a faux threat—despite how much he would love to punch Wilford, he will not do it unless the other prompts it.

The villain shrinks back a bit, “It was an accident I swear!”

Wilford never does anything without a purpose, even if that purpose makes no sense at all. He cannot be doing any old tricks with his old partner; Dark is locked away in the high security prison for super villains. So, what is—

Jackie lets go of Wilford, moving towards the door, “Molly!” He yells back to her, “You’ve got a guest in the place, I have to head home!” And then he is out the door, sprinting down the street as fast as he can. He will have to pick up his outfit after slipping in the back.

Wilford sits stunned for a moment, blinking, “What the?” He shrugs a moment later, reaching to grab a bit of the garnishes for the sushi—all before his hand gets slapped.

Molly glares at him, her stare daring him to even touch the food. She would whoop his ass to the sun and back.

The villain lets out a nervous laugh, “I’m in danger.”


	4. The Silent Gentleman

Schneeplestien sighs, pulling off the bloody gloves and disposing of them in the trashcan beside his desk. Behind him the hum of the machines echoes out, the beep of the heart monitor in a steady rhythm. The operation was tedious, but it was successful. His patient had gone far too long without medical attention, but luckily there was no bleeding in the brain, and the damage was pretty easy to fix.

The oddest thing is what he pulled from Chase’s lungs. He expected something more like blood or water, but instead he was met with a strange black muck. The very stuff sits in a jar, situated at the center of another table, the thing every so often twitching. It is interesting, as if it is conscious despite having no ability to be sentient or even have a thought process. Perhaps it is an extension of whoever put it in Chase. Now that it is out, Schneep can further examine it. It does have any smell, and he is sure it would not be good to grab it without gloves.

It kind of reminds him of something from the past. . .

He sits down at the desk, pushing a few papers around before pulling the keyboard towards him. Fingers glide over the keys, documenting his findings. The files are missing from the experiment that is recalled with that weird muck. During his younger days he was always doing some questionable experiments.

When he backed away from that life, he destroyed all files and information on those tests. No villain should ever get their hands on that stuff. Some of the results to the experiments could be life altering for the whole city. There are things there that not even he wants to look back on.

Shaking his head, he pulls up a file.

Pathway (:C)/user/HvS/profile/???/. A folder that contains all the information he has gathered relating to this mysterious villain. This **must** be the work of that villain, there's no mistake! He starts furiously typing, jotting down every bit of information he can think of relating to that odd muck. It has a smell like something rotten, musty but also like decaying flesh. The thing is bone-chillingly cold to the touch, who knows what it could do when coming into contact with bare skin. Giving a pause, Schneep reflects over a few thoughts from the past, a similarity from his younger days. No, that's not possible. . .

A moment passes before his hands stop moving, “Vhat zhe hell?” He tries to pry them back, only to get resistance as if his hands were completely frozen in place. His head turns quickly, hearing the soft steps enter further into the lab.

Standing across the lab is a rather dapper looking man, cleaning off his monocle with a cloth before placing the piece onto his face and the cloth back into the pocket of his jacket. How did this man get into the base?! There is no way for somebody to just waltz inside a secret base without setting off an alarm!

“Who are you?!” Schneep hisses, unable to get at the person for being stuck in place, “Get out of here!” He watches at the dapper man glances to Chase on the table. There is no hate or malice in the pale blue eyes—something more like concern. The presentation of this one gives the feeling of a villain, but at the same time. . . he looks too innocent to be a villain.

A different approach is taken.

“Who are you?” Schneep's voice is calmer this time, “Are you the one who froze my hands?” He watches the other point to himself before smiling and nodding, “Alright, and vhy did you do it?” Eyebrows furrow when the other starts signing. Damn it, it has been too long since he had to read sign language, “I don’t understand vhat you are saying.”

The other gives a silent huff before pointing up into the air beside him. Words form into the air, as if projected from an old-timey screen, ‘I am Jameson Jackson and I am here to acquire a few things for my employer.’

“A few things?” An eyebrow arches.

Another nod, ‘Yes. A specific mask and—” he does not continue in the mysterious words, rather pointing at the doctor himself.

Schneep grimaces, finally feeling his hands released from the small stasis field. This Jameson seems to have an ability, almost as if life is on a recording and he can stop parts of it. Maybe he can rewind or fast forward, but Schneep would rather not find out how that works. Still, all of this does not sit right with him. Something seems off about this one being a villain. He doesn't have the appearance of a villain, nor goes beyond having the presentation of a villain; a villain would have tried to badger him or attack him by now.

“Are you really a villain?” The question gets a silent gasp from Jameson, a hand pressed against his chest, “No offense, but you do not have zhe air of a villain to you.” Watching, the intruder huffs and crosses his arms. Must be something he gets often.

Jameson hesitates before looking back as Schneep stands up, ‘Maybe I’m not villain material but this is my job; it’s all I have.’

“You can have more!” Schneep frowns, taking a careful step forward, “I vas in your position myself. I vas falling down the villainous path—” he steps forward again, slowly putting himself between this newcomer and Chase, “—after things started to go badly for me. My vife left me for zhat muckerfucka tennis instructor, my career vas failing and after my children died in an accident. . . I vas ready to go villain.” It is true, everything piling up made it worse and worse for him, he took his tragedies with anger.

He straightens his shoulders, finally getting into the spot he wanted—though takes another step closer to Jameson, “But, going down zhat path would lead to more problems. Yeah,” he shrugs, “I spend most of my days down in zhis base rather than outside, but I prefer zhat. I get to do research here and assist vith zhings I vould have never touched before zhis.”

The words get a frown on Jameson’s face, a shrinking of his shoulders closer to his body. He hesitates before letting the words form again, ‘he will be furious if I don’t go through with the job.’ It is the same thoughts he has all the time. Why is he doing this villainous stuff? He is not the villain type, he wants to live life, to have freedom. But to have freedom it takes money, and that is something he has so little of. The only way he can get money is through these jobs. He doesn't want to disappoint Wilford. . .

“Who would be furious?” Schneep raises an eyebrow.

“Why, I would.” The new voice gets both to jump, the doctor quickly spinning around towards the source.

Across the room a gloved hand picks up the cat-like mask, his back to them, “Unfortunate that Jameson is already having second thoughts about this. Feels too familiar, doesn’t it—” The mask is lifted, the strap going around teal-tipped brown hair before being situated into place.

The figure turns, blue and green eyes glimmering as the magic glows around him, “—my old friend?”

“Marvin.” Schneep grimaces, catching Jameson cowering a bit as he steps back from his peripheral, “Vhat is going on? Vhy are you recruiting a kid to break in here?”

The magician gives a faux sympathetic smile, “Because we miss you and there are things to be done.” He steps forward, walking closer to Schneeplestein, “You walked out as we were in the middle of something and that’s quite rude. You walked out on us. Besides, dear Jameson isn't much younger than us, gifted as well. I was hoping he wouldn't be so cowardly, but seems you are quite influential with turning people that way, from personal experience.”

“I made sense of vhat vere doing and that it vaz wrong!” The doctor snaps, “You two vere going down a path I could not follow! Vhat he vants to do is something I cannot get behind and I don't know how you can. Do you zhink you are free from becoming another puppet? He vill use you like anyone else zhen take avay your freedom.”

“You know how dangerous he is, vhat he is capable of.” His heart aches at the memory, the hate still boiling inside his mind for that accident, “You are delusional if you zhink he vill not turn against you vhen things go his vay.” Though. . . Schneep is not blameless in what happened, he was the catalyst in it all.

Marvin growls, sparks of magic jumping off his body, “Shut up! You have no room to talk with your experiments!” He steps forward, ignoring the fearful expression of the dapper, “You know what you did; you are the reason for this—” he points at his eye, the green one, “—why he runs around with an empty socket!”

“You prance as a hero now and say you almost fell down the path of a villain,” he moves closer, anger burning in his eyes, “But you were the villain, you were the one who carelessly played god and used us as your little experiments. We were your **friends** and you did such twisted things to us, what you forced us to do! However. . .” the magician relaxes a bit, his lips pressing into a thin line, “We're willing to give you a second chance if you come along and help us.”

“Never!” There's not a second of hesitation in his response, Schneep standing his ground, “I will not work on any of that again! It is better left forgotten and buried!" 

Another scoff rises from the magician, lifting his hands as they hover in front of his left shoulder, “This was not a request old friend, this is a sure moment in the performance.” Eyes turn to Jameson, “Now, Jameson, why don't you assist me rather than standing there uselessly.” He walks towards Schneep, focuses solely on him.

His foot stops in mid motion, stuck in the familiar temporal stasis, “Oh. . . You made **that** decision.” Snorting, Marvin waves a hand, easily breaking away from the other's power, ignoring the gentleman as he stumbles back from the force against his power, “You are a fool. I will deal with you later, but I have priorities to attend to.” In a flash he vanishes before appearing in front of Schneeplestein, “It's time for a reunion old friend, he has been dying to see you again and return the favor.” No warning is given before Marvin strikes Schneep in the face with a fist enhanced with magic. As the teal glow fades the club etched into his mask dims in the glow as well.

Before Schneep could fall to the floor, he is caught by the magician, “We are going to have such a wonderful time, old friend.” A threatening glare is shot at Jameson, a warning that he should not show his face around. Later the poor gentleman will be picked up for further plans. A breath in and the magician vanishes with the unconscious doctor.

Jameson huffs, stepping forward a few paces as he internally scolding himself for doing nothing! He could have tried more, but there's always something so unsettling about the magician. He could have tried at least. Maybe he isn't cut out for this villain stuff.

That doctor did have a point as well. . . He would be hated by the world if he went through with the villainous ways. But. . . He glances back towards the entrance he came through. What about Wilford? He was kind enough to take him in after he was kicked out by his parents’ place at such a young age. Will is all he has, the only friend in this world. He can't let Will down. . .

His thoughts are interrupted when a fist collides with the side of his face. A grimace of pain forms as he falls to the ground, snapping attention to the source. He backs up from his spot on the ground, staring up with pale blue orbs. Hands quickly wave in front of his body when his vest is grabbed. The hero looks rightfully pissed off for having a stranger in his base and the doctor nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?!” Jackieboy-man growls, his free fist raised ready to punch the dapper man again, “Where is Henrik?!”

Jameson quickly signs, his hands shaking, ‘The magician took him! I-I'm sorry, I tried to stop him!’ When the fist didn't lower he continues, ‘I w-was here to take him but I had a change of heart. I-I'm Jameson Jackson, I-I am a guy for hire when people need to get into places most others cannot.’ He is so used to spewing out the speech about that specific ability it just comes out without much thought.

Not the best to say in front of a hero though, ‘Please forgive me, chap, I was following orders and my old friend. The magician and his companion told us to get the mask and the doctor!’

It is odd. . . Why would somebody switch to not wanting to do what he was doing? Unless, it is not something he wants to be doing in the first place.

Jackie sighs, letting go of the other's vest before offering his hand for him to take, “Come on.” The quick cringe of unease from Jameson gets his heart to sink. This dapper man seems to be really sweet, but he must have been put into a horrible situation to end up in that line of work, “I'm sorry about punching you.” He won't add in that he suspected the other of intending to harm Chase, "That may bruise a bit."

Jameson gently takes the hand, giving an attempted smile as he is pulled to his feet. Fingers brush off the vest and adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. Once he is nice and tidy, pale eyes focus on Jackie, ‘Thank you. I am truly sorry about your doctor friend. I. . .’ a nervous glace is given around, ‘I can lead you to the place I met with. . .’ the signing stops abruptly, eyebrows furrowing as he racks his mind for the memory of where the location was.

“Who is this other working with the magician?” Could it be the one becoming his nemesis? “Did you get a name or a look at who he is?”

The gentleman gives a small nod. He points to one of his eyes, ‘He had a single green eye, brown hair tipped green. I don't know if it is his name and the magician only referred to him as his partner or ‘my dear'. . .’ He hesitates, swallowing down a lump of fear.

‘He is one that often shows up around carnage. My friend Wilford said he was often at wits with the demon known as ‘Dark.’ The two had an off and on friendship and rivalry until Dark was put away.’

This one, he must be the nemesis he's been searching for. It is a bit of a rush knowing that he can now label this other as his nemesis. His transformation into being a hero is complete!

A groan rises into the air, two pairs of eyes turning over to see Chase shifting a bit. Suddenly, he jerks up into a sitting position, yelling out, “Grayson! Trey!” Frantic eyes dart around the area, gripping at his throat.

Chase stares at the wall before catching sight of Jackie—the other mostly in his hero attire save for the mask, with his hair in a complete mess, “Jackie! He took my kids! That fucker took my kids!”

“What?!” Jackie runs over to Chase, stopping at his side to intercept the other as he tries jumping off the bed, “Woah, you are in no shape to be running out right now. The Schneep just got done with surgery on you, your stitches could break.” Luckily Schneep has developed a special medicine that reduces the pain people feel after surgery and they can be a bit more active than most others. Odd how he could create it so quickly, but he has always had his ways of getting things.

Sighing in relief when his old friend reluctantly lays back down, his attention turns to Jameson, “Did you see any kids while you were at the villains' hideout?”

The dapper shakes his head, ‘No, I was only there for a moment. . .’ He gives a deep frown, itching his head, “I cannot even remember where it is.’ Perhaps it was something to do with that spell Marvin put on them. It would not be surprising with how paranoid and mysterious the two are—especially the one.

‘I'm sorry. They didn't even mention having kids when we were there.’ 

“It's fine,” Jackie shakes his head, offering a smile in hopes to cheer up the other a bit, “Can you grab that glass over there and fill it with a bit of water?” He watches Jameson move before turning to Chase, “Can you tell me if you saw the person who took your kids?”

This time the other gets a better look at his friend, suddenly jerking in surprise, “Wait!” He sits up, watching confusion rush over Jackie's expression, “Jackie?! You are Jackieboy-man?!”

Right, he forgot he had put on all his attire besides the mask. The mask is the most important part, the part that is enchanted.

“I'm sorry I never told you,” the hero ducks his head in shame, hands pressing against the table surface, “I kept it from everyone in fear you would all be targeted if a villain found out as well. I did not want you or your kids to get hurt. . . Not like Henrik's kids.” That memory will never face away, the same accident that took his parents from him.

Villains have very little boundaries, often dragging innocent people into their rampages just to get under a hero's skin, and that especially means those close with the hero. If there was a chance that some villain could get his identity, much like how Wilford did, it could spell death for his loved ones.

“Where is the doc?” Chase gazes around the room, concluding it is a lab by the expensive machinery, the tables, the multiple computer monitors and the machines hooked up to him through thin tubes that record his vital signs. It screams the same aesthetic as Henrik's old house—organized except for where he works. The desk with the computer and the various monitors is littered with discarded notes and stacked with paperwork most likely ignored. Even after all this time Schneep still has some issues with procrastinating on his work outside of the thing he is highly focused on.

The newcomer turns his attention away, slightly hiding his face. Jackie sighs, “He got taken by Marvin the Magnificent. I don't know what he and the other villain plan to do with Schneep but I need to get him back and quickly!” Whatever they have planned it cannot be good. The magician himself seems to have some good inside him, but it is suffocated by the darkness that grows with every use of the dark magic. Was he once good and the accident caused him to fall?

Perhaps if it wasn't for Danny's training, Jackie would have fell to that same feeling of anger towards the world that took what he loved. He hated so much after he lost his parents, turning to physically training himself while Schneep turned to research. They tried to drown and fill the emptiness with anything they could. At least they had each other to help calm that anger. Maybe Marvin had nothing left and fell to the anger that consumed his heart. Could it have been his partner that brought him to the villainous side, or something entirely different? If what Jameson said is correct, if this other had been friends with the demon, Dark, he is not somebody to be taken lightly.

“Marvin?” Chase's eyes widen a bit, surprised to hear the name, “But. . . He was supposed to be dead.”

“How do you remember him?”

“How do you not remember him?” Chase retorts, tilting his head as fingers travel through his hair, “He went to school with us. He got suspended and then kicked out for using his tricks on bullies and then a teacher. He had his show, even invited us multiple times to it. You starred in one, he made you vanish for a bit and then reappear in a completely different place.”

He starred in a performance? The only “performance” he can recall “starring” in was their first fight. How could he not remember all these things, and why are Chase and Henrik the only ones that remember Marvin? There must have been something cast to wipe away the memories of Marvin. . . but why? What caused the accident and what would make it important to wipe away memories of him? Was this his doing or somebody else’s?

If somebody could wipe the memory of everyone, they could be a dangerous threat. To do such a feat is a ballsy display of power—especially since it was not even noticed by anyone. If what Jameson said is true, it is possible that Marvin did it himself—he did so easily wipe Jameson and Wilford’s memories of the location they met up.

Then how was he able to defeat the magician if he is so strong?

“Of course. . .” Jackie mumbles under his breath, grimacing as a solution pops into his head. The mask. The magician’s mask is a conduit of magic, which means it is enchanted as well. Magic can work like a beacon, a signal that calls out and can be read. A signal that is created from the same magic wielded by the magician is stronger than others and so easy to follow.

He wanted Jackie to take the mask so it could lead them to the location of the secret base.

The scary thing is Marvin was able to get into the base without setting off any of the alarms—alarms which are equipped to sense and stop magical beings from getting in unnoticed. Even without his conduit he could fool things built to detect and stop intruders.

Perhaps now it would be more accurate to say Jackieboy-man has two nemeses. It would be fitting since both Marvin and this mysterious green-haired villain are working together with the information gathered.

Though, Jackie recalls Henrick saying he knew the magician as well. Could it be possible that is why Henrik was taken, and perhaps why he still had his memories? What sort of connection is there between those two and Henrik besides the link of them all being around the same age in school? Too bad he can’t just ask Henrik himself.

Would the mysterious man be one of their classmates as well?

He will have to grab his senior yearbook when he gets home to check if anyone matches the small description he has gotten of this super villain—perhaps bring Jameson along to get his input. How odd they all have some connection with each other. Who else could be part of this?

Jackie sighs, glancing over to Chase as Jameson hands him the glass of water, “We need to figure out where they took Schneep. The longer they have him the worse things could get. They want him for a specific reason, and with all the things he created it could go two ways. I bet if we find Schneep, we find your kids, Chase.” Either they will want to use Henrik's work, or hurt him for what his work was.

Hands wave to get the hero's attention, the gentleman adjusting his vest before signing, ‘Marvin had mentioned that the reason he has two different colored eyes is because of that doctor. He also mentioned ‘they' were used as experiments and wanted the doctor back to continue something.’

“Henrik deleted all the files on his work. . .” Jackie recalls, having watched the doctor burn the physical copies and delete the digital ones. So, did Schneep work with them? Which one of his experiments do they want to continue?

Attention turns, hearing something like a short static burst rise into the air. Three pairs of eyes turn, seeing the glass jar on the table. The black muck twitches and writhes, another static noise emanated from inside the glass. The thrashing grows more violent, the static shifting into something like a high-pitched scream—loud enough that all the cover their ears.

Finally, it starts to tear apart like it's a sold rather than a liquid-like substance. Each tear makes more and more pieces until it breaks away into emptiness.

“What the fuck was that?!” Chase shivers, horror showing on his expression.


	5. The Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for character death, eye gore and scopophobia! A slightly gory chapter so approach with caution

His body is thrown forward, falling onto his hands and knees. He coughs, trickles of blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Sickness rushes through him, mixing with the pain radiating through his body. Everything dances across his vision, his brain swimming through muck.

Through it all he can still focus on the voice, the ever-present voice that forces him to focus through the agony. Only that voice matters.

“Poor fool. You come back here despite failing and expect to be rewarded?” the voice scoffs, before another blow strikes his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs, “Stupid idiot!”

So many eyes. Which ones are his own? Which ones belong to his attacker? Are they even real?

They all accusingly stare him down, scrutinizing and judging his actions. There is no escape, they are everywhere, always watching.

Why did he even return here? Jameson didn't come back and. . . The doctor and the magician are here, at least he thinks they are. Are they or is this all in his mind? Is this even happening?

There is no ability to tell where is up and where is down. Where even is he besides a little slice of hell? After he escaped that little sushi place something beckoned him to wander in some direction. One moment he was stumbling through the streets, next he was doubling over after a powerful blow to his gut.

“What did you expect to get--" the way the voice shifts becomes grating in his ears, burrowing into his skull and making him want to claw at his ears to stop hearing it, “—W-Wilford?! You did nothing!”

Wilford coughs, spitting up a bit of blood, “But I distracted him!”

“For five minutes m-ma-ax!” As time goes on the voice gets more distorted, a secondary voice rising and a buzzing noise in the background, “He still got in the way! And y-your little associate is n-now with the hero!” Another blow is given, this one shattering a few ribs.

The attacker laughs, rising volume as it breaks into a manic cackle.

“I'll give you something, pu-up-ppet!”

“I-I think I've had enough,” Wilford whimpers, hoping it would be enough.

No such luck.

All those eyes focus on him, unblinking with their acid-green gaze. All around him, endlessly staring. He tries to shelter his face with his hands, only to see those eyes staring at him on his palms. A scream of terror escapes the man, shaking his head, “Make it stop! It was an accident! It wasn't supposed to go so wrong!”

Across the room Henrik shifts uncomfortably, unable to leave the situation. Even beside him, Marvin flinches.

This horror, this monstrous show is all because of the doctor's experiments. He was the one to cause this monster to awaken.

“T-toooo late for second ch-chances!” The voice cackles again, a hand shooting out and latching onto Wilford's throat. As quickly, he is slammed against the wall, his body begging for release from the suffering and torment it is subjected to.

 _He_ leans closer, breath warm as it brushes against the other's face, “I will see if I can make you mine, but first I have to **break you**.” Only one bright green eye gets closer,slightly shifting angle as the head tilts, “You get to be either the first puppet. . . Or the first failure.”

There is not a chance for any words, only a scream as something sharp penetrates the brown eyes, two points digging in deep. Wilford squirms, thrashing and screaming in the vain hope the monster will stop. Fingers grasp at the arms, futile attempts to pull away them. The claws go in deeper and deeper, curling around the eyes.

Screams echo through the room until the sound of tearing flesh rises to rival the volume. A broken eye is tossed, rolling and stopping near the other two. The one left in good condition is observed, brought up close to the attacker's face. He observes it up and down, moments passing before his tongue swipes over the surface, a drawn-out action. It trails across the surface over the iris and pupil before the slimy muscle returns to the mouth.

A gruff snort comes out before his mouth opens. Sharp teeth break through, shattering the lens and cornea in the powerful bite. The bits are spat out, the remainder shoved back into the empty socket, “Useless!” The figure snarls, grabbing Wilford's head before repeatedly smashing it against the wall, “Useless! **Useless**! **U̷̩S̶͓̔Ẽ̶̞͌L̶̰̈́̐E̴̥̚S̴̪͔͐S̵̱͓̓**!”

Henrik tries to look away, yet Marvin's magic forces him to watch, “You need to see what your work has caused. Look at what you've done.” Marvin growls, his emotions staring to rise, “Are you proud of what you did to us? You made him into a real prize, didn't you; you made us both into the pick of the bunch.”

“Meine gott. . . What have I done?” Henrik watches in horror as Wilford's body collapses, his head a bloody mess. The figure breathes in and out, chest rising and falling quickly with heavy breaths. Then, all eyes seem to gather, resting on the face of the one. They all turn, staring at Henrik. The stare is overbearing, making him want to shrink back and hope that the smaller size will free him from the gaze.

“Right. . .” the unsettling grin falls to a sneer, “You're still here.” He sifts to standing up, walking over to the two. One hand brushes against Marvin's cheek, the other villain snapping back into reality with the action. Marvin breathes, shaking his head gently to regain awareness of the world around him.

“How long has it been dear doctor, since we last saw each other?” The figure pretends to think about it, “Oh right, when you took my eye and shoved it into Marvin's skull those years ago.” The body twitches and distorts, the eyes quickly glancing in different directions before snapping to Henrik, “Right before you ran away in fear at what you did and teamed up with that pathetic hero!”

Finally, Henrik slips between the weakness in Marvin's magic to look away. He can't stand to stare at the other.

“LOOK AT ME!” The voice booms in his ears, ringing out in the empty room.

He has no choice but to look over. The face shifts, returning to something human, with that single green eye.

“That's better.” He stands up, shoving Henrik into the wall, “This reunion has been in the making for a while. Did you miss me? I missed you. . . I never got to thank you for all the hell you put me through—for what you made me into.”

“Anti, please, listen to me!” Henrik keeps his gaze steady despite how much he wants to look away. It is difficult to look at his old friend like this—look at what he did when there was so little stability left in him. He did this to both of them, tied them together and made them into monsters, “I can vork on a vay to undo all zhis. You don't have to live like zhis, neither of you do.” Bright blue eyes glance slightly to Marvin, though quickly returned at the dangerous growl from the other.

He pushes forward, getting away from the wall and getting the other to back up and few faces, “I can help you.”

“There's not much of a choice in it for us, now is there?” Anti begins his circle around Henrik, that single eye never leaving the other—a predator stalking his prey. In his hand rests a sharp knife, the metal stained with blood of victims unable to be washed away, “We were victims in your little games. Perhaps we should thank you a bit since without your help we wouldn't be so strong. But not s-sure it is worth the s-side effects.”

As if on cue, Anti's body begins to twitch and convulse, blood starting to seep through the bandage wrapped around his neck, staining it a deep red. His hands press against his throat, a short choking sound followed by his body shifting instantly between that position and one looking like he is laughing while shifting his weight back and forth. A horrible static sound escapes into the air, buzzing electricity sparking around their heads.

Marvin tenses up a bit, his own body twitching, distorting between his calm exterior and one that is covering his face like he is crying. They are linked together in their pain, drawing off each other. No wonder they got so close, why they linger around each other. It could be said that the experiments kept their relationship alive, even if it meant they suffer together.

Even if they didn't get along beforehand, they would have to with the bond.

“But!” Anti snaps back into focus, grabbing Henrik by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in close, “Since that idiot was not worth the trouble, we will have to move to another plan. Your expertise is needed with this.” Anti gives an unsettling, sharp grin as Marvin steps up behind.

A vial is held up in the doctor's peripheral, deep crimson pooled at the bottom. Marvin moves it back before tossing it to Anti, avoiding the hand that attempts to swipe it away, “You're going to help Marv make a special potion with this.”

Marvin huffs, “Don't think I am happy about it. I'd rather tie you up and make the experiment of how long you can last hanging from your legs before you beg for freedom. Alas, things must be done for the show. We need one of those special little mixtures you make with this bit of blood.”

“Ah ah,” Anti tosses the vial back to Marvin when Henrik tries again to take it, “None of that. If you do that we will have to get more, and getting this could difficult without actually killing the hero.” He studies the doctor's expression, letting out a laugh, “Don't worry, no accidents will happen if he plays nicely.” It's hard to trust the word of a demonic being, especially one so hell-bent on making the doctor himself suffer through the pain of those he cares about. Jackie is not free from feeling the monsters' wrath.

“We have a bit of that research you decided to destroy as you ran away,” Anti always had a way with technology, able to fix what even professionals failed to repair. He could retrieve files that were permanently deleted within a day give or take, “But we need your special touch.”

“And if I don't?” Henrik snaps at the one standing in front of him.

The grin sends shivers down his spine, wanting to back away if not for the magician standing directly behind him, “Why. . . If you refuse, I'll just make you. You should remember what I can do with the little ‘improvements’ you made to me. How ironic would it be for you to experience your work first hand?”

Marvin snorts, getting closer to Henrik as he waves his hand. Threads of teal light weave from the empty air, twisting and coiling around the doctor's form—restricting his arms to his sides and reducing his maneuverability significantly, “I would rather that, then I don't have to deal with his grumbling.” A pause, “And it would be oh so satisfying to see it happen to him.”

Memories cannot be forgotten of that moment, fear still fresh in the magician's mind from it all. It was horrifying to see what happened to his partner, the feeling of that muck going down his throat and spreading throughout his body. It was the first time he experienced what torturous tests were done on Anti. It was the first time he was shoved out of control over his body. He hated it, and every day wished the one who caused all of this bullshit to experience it as well.

_“Please! Stop this! Snap out of it Anti!” Marvin cries out, struggling against the restraints holding his limbs down, “Don't do thi—!” He can't finish, feeling the black ooz slip past his lips. There's no stopping the gagging as it easily slides into his throat. Coughing and gagging he can't grip at his neck or try to pry away the rest from going in._

_Despite his pleas and panicked looks, the doctor did not stop it, continuing to let it happen with uncaring eyes. All that mattered was to see the results._

_‘I'm sorry.’ Anti's voice whispers into his skull, ‘I can make the pain stop.’ And then things fade into numbness._

Anti chuckles, fingers rising to brush against the bandages snug around his throat, “Such a good reasoning to do so. Not like he will willingly help us hurt his dear little hero.”

_“What did you do to me?! I should be dead!”_

_“Can’t you see? I made it so you can't die, and I needed a place to make access to your ozher improvement.”_

_“My **other** improvement?! I'm bleeding out of my neck! How is this an improvement?!”_

_“I vill show you. Let us go find Marvin, he should be avake now.”_

The look of fear in those bright ocean blue eyes is delicious. Was he foolish enough to believe they would not turn against him, or did he forget it all and expect everyone else to as well when he turned over a new leaf? This will be more enjoyable than he could imagine.

Anti steps forward, tearing away the bandages obscuring his neck in one fell swoop. Dark blood seeps out from the exposed wound in greater amounts, the rise of a rotten smell into the air. The same smell the ick Henrik removed from Chase's lungs had. So it was Anti's doing, but not enough for Chase to be taken over. . . Unless they intended for it to be a way they could get what they wanted. Two methods to get it if the other one failed. Way too prepared. Chase was another beacon for them to follow.

Henrik struggles, watching the oozing liquid shift to a blackish color, thickening to that familiar substance he had removed just an hour ago. He has no idea how painful this could be, and he is confident it won't be comfortable.

_“Do you know the pain you have put us through? You deserve this. Their deaths are on your hands.”_

_“Zhey vere innocent! My kids, Jackie's parents, they did nothing to you!”_

_“Collateral damage unfortunately for Jackie's parents, but we told you—”_

_“—You are going to experience the pain we suffer through. And this includes losing your loved ones, just like we did.”_

_“Did you know? My parents kicked me out, they tried to **hunt me down.** A demon! I couldn't be their precious boy anymore and must be **killed**!”_

_“She's dead. . . She had a heart attack because I couldn't control my new **improvements**. I had to watch her **die** because of your gifts.”_

_“ **They died for your sins, and this is just the beginning**.”_

Anti purrs with amusement, pulling out threads of black muck from the cut along his neck—the fear growing more prominent on Henrik's face. It stretches between his open neck and his hand, twitching a bit as if it is alive. It's not alive, it's an extension of Anti, but. . . Perhaps this part could be considered alive since it's directly from Anti and would be used for. . . Well, not nice things.

More gathers on his hand, his body growing paler as it goes, “Open wide doc~” the demonic entity once human mockingly teases, “It won't be too painful.” There's a moment he watches, musing as he sees lips tighten into a thin line to keep the mouth shut firmly.

“Not gonna play nice, huh? Good.” Another unsettling grin rises to his visage once again, invading the doctor's personal space,” Can't keep your mouth shut forever.” Mockingly he pokes Henrik's cheek with his muck-covered fingers, tracing them to the corners of the lips, “You love hearing your own voice too much to keep silent.”

Disappointing that jab did not get more than a deadly glare from the other. Fine then, more drastic measures need to be taken. Anti glances behind, giving a small nod to Marvin. The magician grins wide, a cheshire-like grin laced with mischief. Rolling his wrist with fingers flared, magic gathers.

The glare from Henrik quickly falters and shifts into his eyes widening. Pain radiates from his back, something sharp digging through flesh. He can't stop his body from reacting naturally from such a thing, screaming out in agony.

The moment his mouth opens, fingers push past lips, gripping on his lower jaw while the thumb holds beneath the chin. Quickly the blackness slithers forward, filling his mouth. It tastes horrible, like rotten leaves and ancient flesh, making him gag but unable to react before it slides down his throat. There's so much of it, cutting off his breath. His focus fades in and out, unable to register anything happening around him—such as Anti's body vanishing away into the blackness.

As it nears the end, Henrik is grasping for any sort of air for his starved lungs. Gradually, his eyes droop, struggling to keep awake. Numbness starts to take hold, sensations fading away into emptiness.

When he opens his eyes, he cannot feel anything, he cannot move his body, ‘Vhat zhe hell?’ It feels like he is floating in an abyss, weightless and unable to move with a purpose.

When his hand lifts, an action he did not try to do, pure dread takes over.

He is not in control of his body anymore, a passenger in his own flesh!

Is this what it feels like?

Henrik growls, looking around the blackness, ‘Anti! Anti, give me my body back!’ The pain returns, arching his back and letting out a scream—yet the scream makes no sound outside his skull. Black tendrils wrap around his limbs, keeping him in an iron grasp. No room for struggling.

‘I told you little doctor, if you didn't want to help on your own, I'd make you.’ Anti's voice mocks him as it echoes around him with no pinpointable source, ‘Such information you know! I knew you wouldn't forget your experiments and your plans for other tests. Perhaps we can give Jackie a taste of your medicine!’

‘NO!’ Henrik thrashes against the black tendrils, ‘Leave him alone!’

There is only a laugh in response, Anti uncaring to give him a proper response. He has bigger fish to fry than taunting the little doctor directly. He will hear everything that goes on, will know of their plans but cannot do a thing to stop them.

Anti tests the stolen body, flexing his arms then rolling his neck. Instinctively fingers rise to prod at his neck, a near shock when it touches skin and not the large unsealed gash. Once it is noticed Anti is in control of the body, the threads of magic fade away.

Slowly he chuckles, spinning around to face Marvin, “How do I look?”

The magician hums, giving a faux moment of thought, “Is that a trick question? Because it is you, yes, you look wonderful, but also no because you are in the fool's body.”

“Good answer.” Anti purrs, stepping closer, “Then I'll spare you having to kiss him,” He runs a finger across the underside of Marvin's chin, brushing past the hairs of his beard, “Shall we focus so we can ruin that hero's career? We have kids to deal with! Oh, so many plans to make!”

There's a moment of hesitation from Marvin, glancing over in the direction of two small figures curled up in a corner, “What will happen to them?”

Anti shrugs, uncaring about the answer, “Who knows. It all depends on what the hero does, how desperate he gets.” The one in the stolen body hums, swiping away the vial of blood and heading towards the back of the expansive room—stepping over the discarded body, “But somebody is going to hurt no matter the choice of the hero!” He slips into a fit of maddening laughter, not noticing the frown form on his partner's face.

Marvin hesitates a moment before following, brushing his cape back.


	6. The Demon Hunter

“What the fuck was that?” Chase slowly lowers his hands from pressing against his ears. The sound still rings in his ears, all three grimacing at the remaining buzzing in their skulls. The jar sits a few meters away, completely empty. Whatever was in there is gone, evaporated into nothing.

“I think that was what Schneep removed from your lungs,” Jackie stares, his expression still plastered with shock, “I'm not sure what it was; whatever it was, it was not natural.” He glances to Jameson, noticing the other tapping a finger against his chin in thought.

A moment later he gives a silent ‘ah-ha!’—finger pointed right up into the air and looks to the two, quickly signing, ‘I may know somebody who could help! He has gotten involved in dealing with supernatural events before. Though. . .’ Jameson pauses, shifting nervously a bit, ‘He is a bit reclusive. I know where he is so I can take you there. He doesn't like visitors, but he'll be a bit better since I'm with you.'

“How far?”

‘Fifteen minutes by car, just at the edge of the city.’ So, this person lives near the expansive forest to the south. Interesting that Jackie does not recall somebody like that, he knows a lot about the people in Bossatronia but not somebody who deals with the supernatural. Could he be the one who assisted in the capture of that powerful demon?

It would not be surprising. That whole ordeal was mostly kept on the down-low, the heroes going on the mission not openly spoken of even between other heroes. Only the soundest of mind could go on that mission and it either takes a sound mind or a completely out of it mind to deal with supernatural instances as a job. This guy could be the sole survivor of that mission.

Jackie glances over at Chase, starting to think. It would not be best to take Chase with them, but at the same time leaving him alone would be bad as well. Who knows if the villains would come back to try to take him, or there is some unknown complication. However, if he comes with them it could strain his stitches and cause more damage.

“You are not leaving me behind.” Chase breaks through the internal debate as if knowing what his friend was thinking, “I'm not going to stay here when my kids and Henrik are in danger. I'll be fine, you know he used that anesthesia so I'm not out of it like being under with another surgeon.”

He would argue, but there is no time, “Alright, let's get going. The longer we take, the less chance we have of saving them all.”

Chase slowly stands up, testing how well he can stand and walk before giving a thumbs up. Stable enough to move around, but nothing too exerting.

Leading the group, Jackie takes them out of the base, a paced walk to his car parked a few blocks away. He takes the driver’s seat while Jameson gets shotgun and Chase is in the back, “Okay, when we need to turn or change our path, let me know.” Keys turn on the engine, the car roaring to life as Jamie gives a thumbs up in understanding.

The drive there is quiet at first, Jameson giving small directions with arrows created with his special gift to guide Jackie down the roads.

Chase is the one who starts conversing with Jameson, the two exchanging questions about the other. Chase tells an abridged story of his past, how his ex-wife, Stacy, took their kids away and moved to a whole different city and how she rarely allowed him weekends with the kids despite the joint custody settlement. He would take her to court, but then again, she could use his coping mechanism of alcohol to cut him completely off from the kids’ lives.

This gets the dapper man to frown, a signed gesture of sympathy.

After that, it is Jamie’s turn to explain.

As Jackie thought, Jameson was pushed into the life of a villain against his wants. He was born with a gift but in exchange he has no voice. The mute man could manipulate time like it is on a reel; right now he can only pause it, working on learning how to rewind and fast forward without it nearly killing him.

Because of this ability and his inability to talk, his parents kicked him out of the house onto the street at a young age. It was then, a few months after being homeless, that Wilford found him.

Jameson had snuck into one of the villain’s parties to steal some food and the other was highly impressed by the fact he could get in completely unnoticed. From there, the two started working together, Wilford inviting Jameson to stay with him. The jobs were small things mostly, Jameson never doing work involving violence, only once having an encounter with Dark.

It is odd to hear Wilford being so considerate of another.

“Well, you don't have to do those things anymore,” Chase smiles at Jamie, “You've got us now.” The frown from the gentlemen gets the smile to falter, “Bro, what's up with that face?”

Jameson presses a hand against his chest, slightly curling in on himself. For a moment silence lingers, just the hum of the engine disturbing it.

Finally, he looks up and signs, ‘I fear I will not be seeing Wilford again. Since Marvin got involved, it means they will not be happy for the failure. He did not distract Jackie long enough. I fear they have killed him. . .’

“I. . . I'm sorry, Jamie,” Chase lowers his gaze, the smile completely vanishing, “Just know—” he looks up, a glimmer of seriousness in his blue eyes, “—we will be here for you. We stick together, right, Jackie?”

Jackie nods, keeping his eyes on the road, “Of course. Even if you just joined us, I know you've got a good heart and could do some great good. We'll support each other and get through this.” He briefly looks away to smile at Jamie, “Promise.”

Jameson blinks for a moment, staring. It shifts into a bright smile, pressing his hands close to his chest and bowing his head in thanks. He's beaming, the brightness of his light glowing off him.

This is the real Jameson Jackson. A soft light waiting to bloom into a hero. The conversation from there shifts into talking about more light-hearted things, such as the cat JJ had seen the other day with her kittens.

A few minutes later the car settles into a stop in front of a rather run-down looking house.

It is not small by any means, but it looks like it has seen better days. The bushes are overgrown, weeds invading the lawn and the trees mostly barren of leaves. The windows are closed, curtains drawn to block out any sights inside. It is getting around midnight, the lamp at the porch alight as the only illumination for them to see the doorway. Small bugs hover around the light, buzzing back and forth waiting to dive at the glowing source in some vain hope to capture the luminescent glow.

Somebody lives there with the maintained black truck parked in the driveway, but it seems that is about it. Even the bird feeder and bird bath in the front are completely barren. There is a tarp over the bed of the truck, most likely supplies stored in the back.

A sign hangs on the front door that says “GO AWAY" in bright red letters.

“Already can tell he's friendly as hell.” Chase jokes dryly as they get to the porch. Jackie shoots him a glance before knocking twice on the door. JJ glances to the bench nestled against the back of the porch, humming in thought.

Silence.

A shuffling sound rises, a few things being pushed out of the way with curses thrown into the air, before the door opens slightly. A dark blue eye appears, the golden chain of a lock hanging just below it, “Can ye not read the damn sign?”

“We need your help—” Jackie starts but is unable to continue.

“Get off m'fockin property before I make ye get off.” And the door slams shut.

Jameson pushes Jackie back, giving a few small taps to the door in a pattern. A long knock, two short ones, two long ones, then finally a short one. He steps back, the sound of locks unlatching before the door opens more this time, “Jamie?” He looks over the gentleman, then huffs, “So, that's how they got m' address.”

The man standing in front of them has straight, deep green hair that sweeps from right to left over his forehead, a slightly thin beard, and a black cap atop his head. His cheek is covered in a bit of black ink and a jagged scar across the left side of his neck. By the looks of it, his left arm is fake, replaced flesh most likely after a nasty accident. He seems gruff, a few inches taller than them.

There is not even a smile on his face seeing Jameson again. Does he even feel emotions besides being angry?

Jameson waves at him, smiling brightly, ‘This is Jackie and Chase. They need your expertise with a problem starting to arise,’ the gentleman pauses, taking off the monocle and placing it into his vest pocket, ‘it may be that one that evaded you those years back.’

“What?” The other's eyes widen only a bit, thinking before he opens the door wider to invite them in, “Come inside, you’ll let in a draft or some plague or something.”

The three step inside, the owner closing the door and relocking it. He ushers then to the main room, gesturing to the couch and chairs. Jackie takes a chair while Chase and Jameson take the couch.

The room is large, settled beneath the staircases leading to the second floor. Parallel to the couch is a long coffee table and then a beautiful fireplace currently lit. Long curtains are drawn, most of the room in shades of reds, browns and blacks. Everything has a bit of a Victorian flare, as if it hasn't caught up to modern times. There doesn't seem to be any sort of electronics besides an old radio, but that looks to be busted beyond repair.

Across from the couch is where the mysterious man stands, arms tightly crossed over his chest. The leather of his dark brown jacket groans a bit with the shifting of his arms, pressing tight against his biceps, “So, you've had an encounter with that demon?”

“Who are you exactly?” Chase interrupts before Jackie can answer the question.

“Tch, ye don’t wait, do ye?” The other rolls his eyes, “Name’s Shawn Flynn. Used ta be an artist until things went ta shite. Now, ‘m a bounty hunter of te supernatural.”

“You were the one who helped capture that demon, Dark, right?” Jackie questions, trying to hide the giddy feeling from being exposed. He always wanted to be part of that party, but it was around the time of the accident and the heroes were not comfortable having him around a demon that could manipulate emotions. The name rings familiar, sparking the memory buried in the back of his mind.

“Yea,” Shawn shrugs as if it is nothing big, “Lead te group inta te bastard’s place. Almost as annoyin’ as takin' down that fockin’ ink demon. But, tat's not te point of dis. Ye said ye need help with a demon, te same one that evaded me. Works alongside a magician.”

“Yes,” Jackie nods. It sounds like Shawn has been dealing with the same villain Jackie claimed as his nemesis. Would it count if Shawn says he's a bounty hunter as them having the same nemesis? “We’ve had no luck catching him or even getting a scent of him.”

“’e's a clever bastard ever since that other demon got captured. Been tormentin’ places fer a couple years. Working with that magician makes it hard ta take either of ‘em down. Seems they've got some connection with each other,” Shawn shifts, moving to sit down on one of the larger chairs, “They draw off each other's powers. It's all in te eyes,” he taps just below his right eye, “Some focker shoved te demon's eye inta te Magician's head. They do say te eyes are a window inta te soul, bindin’ te two together. Whoever did it was a sick focker. I'd say te magician is hurtin’ pretty badly.”

"How do you know?" Jackie leans forward a bit, curious about this knowledge.

The hunter scoffs, "Ye know how ta recognize those kind'o things. 'E hesitates more than te demon, seems to actually have some morals." 

So, Marvin is not fully into the whole villain thing?

“I haven't been able ta get near ‘em with their combined power.” Shawn admits begrudgingly, “Judgin’ by the way they act, they can see things te other sees and they can use each other's powers at te cost of weakenin' one.”

Chase hums, “Is that how you lost your arm?”

Shawn wrinkles his nose, shooting Chase another narrowed glare, “No. I lost that against te ink demon. We're not ‘ere ta fockin' discuss m’ life story. Ye want te short story, m' old boss had te ability to bring animations ta life. Ended up bringin’ a powerful demon ta life that nearly killed all of us. M' friend, Henry, and I ended up finally killin’ the bastard but took m' arm and Henry died later at the hospital. And I don't need ye sympathy, ‘m not te one that died.”

Chase leans to Jameson, keeping his voice to a whisper so only the one can hear him, “He's got a real grumpy personality, doesn't he?” Jameson holds back a giggle despite the only signal of it being the subtle movement of his shoulders and the hand pressed to hide his mouth.

A grape pelts Chase, bouncing off his forehead, “And damn good hearin'!” Shawn snorts as Jackie joins in with the giggling of Jamie, “Bunch o' fockin' kids. . .” he may only be a few years older than them, but it feels like he's decades older than he is. With all he has been through it would age a person a few decades.

“Ye gonna keep gigglin' like a lot o' school lasses or ye gonna focus so we can get this done and I can take down a demon and his pet magician?”

Jackie shifts, the giggle dying down into a serious expression—one that hints of anger, “Hey, if anyone is gonna take them down it's gonna be me!” He stands, talking a challenging step forward, “They're my nemeses!”

“Oh, ye one of those.” The hunter rolls his eyes, turning as he walks over to a cabinet, “Bein' somebody's ‘nemesis' only makes them smug. Ye gonna make mistakes havin’ that mentality—I’d suggest droppin' that before ye get others inta te bullshite. Ye push ‘em and they'll kill others in retaliation.” He reaches into the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

“How would you know?”

“What did I **just** say? ‘m not here ta tell ye m’ life story!” Shawn snaps back with a bite, “If ye are gonna focus on those things get outta m’ house!” The bottle is slammed against the wooden surface.

A quiet rustling comes from the back of the house, a door opening only a smidgen. Though, such a thing goes unnoticed by all but Jameson.

Shawn steps closer to Jackie, showing off his teeth in a sneer. Jackie holds his ground, fingers curling into fists. Both look ready to tear out the other's throat. Chase is slightly annoyed while Jameson is fine, pale blue eyes on the doorway in the back.

“You're what, a couple years older than me and you expect to know more?” Jackie hisses, slightly straightening his spine more and settling more on the balls of his feet to compensate for his slightly shorter height.

“I know more than ye, ye arrogant lil' prick!” Shawn retorts, “I didn't have a breakdown that caused me ta be unable to do m’ job. I may not be te most stable lad ‘round here, but I know when ta pull up my trousers and fockin’ do what needs ta be done! I got dealt a shitty hand, yeah, but I don’t give a shite. I don't go prancin' ‘round wantin’ ta have everyone's attention for what I do.” He hates the idea of being in the spotlight like that. No room for mistakes.

Jackie bristles, anger overpowering any other emotion going through his mind, “Excuse me?! My parents **died** that night! I lost everything I had in one moment!” He takes another step forward, mere centimeters away from the hunter.

He gives a smirk, perhaps a low blow but it is what he’s got, “At least my breakdown didn’t cause the death of my whole group. I don’t live with the guilt that I was the only one who survived.”

It is a low blow.

In a fury of seconds Shawn lunges, a powerful, winded punch delivered directly to Jackie’s face. It is enough force to even knock the hero down, his weight breaking the coffee table beneath him. There is no time for anyone to react.

It does not stop there; Shawn is down upon the hero, grabbing him by the collar of his turtleneck and giving another punch to break the nose.

Chase quickly gets up, moving over and grabbing Shawn’s raised hand before another blow can be given, “Stop it!” His words fall on deaf ears, the hunter pushing him away with a growled threat.

By now that rustling has grown louder, somebody entering the room with soft shuffling feet carrying them towards the scene.

As another punch is aimed before a growled voice speaks, “What-is-ruckus?”

Shawn glances over his shoulder, the anger quickly fading a bit upon seeing the other. Chase glances over as well, eyes widening at the sight.

Standing nearby is a man—well, something that looks like a man. He's got wild hair, most of it a faded purple color. His skin is sickly pale with blackness around the pure white eyes. By all accounts this newcomer looks like he should be dead—a close conclusion since the other is an undead. Odd to see one so casual near a hunter of the supernatural. He looks to be younger than them, perhaps dying at a younger age but could be older depending on how long he has been undead.

Before Jackie can throw a punch, Shawn takes hold of his fist, “There’s nothing wrong, Robbie, go back ta restin’.” He moves to punch again, only to pause when Robbie speaks—getting Jackie's attention as well.

“Why-fighting?” Robbie frowns, the pure white eyes not giving away the concern as much as the dipping eyebrows, “Friend. . .”

With a growl, Shawn stands and takes a few steps back, “Get out of m’ house, **now**! Ye come near m’ house again and I’ll take ye down like any other bastard.” He gives a glance to Jameson, an unspoken note that he is not included in the group. It is partially because the other does not talk, but also when they converse it is not annoying questions or prying into the past that is best left just that.

“But—” Robbie starts before going quiet at the glare from Shawn. The newcomer gives a small wave of a sickly pale hand. Jameson is the only one to return it, Chase helping up the seething hero.

Not another word is uttered as the three leave the home, the silence lingering inside. Robbie slowly shuffles over to Shawn, tugging a bit on the other’s jacket, “Shawn-okay?”

It takes a bit for the hunter to calm himself, taking off his hat and combing fingers through the deep green hair—the hat placed back after the action is finished, “’m fine. . ."

He is not.

It was all his fault those other heroes died. He was arrogant, believing he could take on that demon himself. He took down the ink demon, what problems could a demon that plays with emotion cause? He had Henry, Tom and Allison there to help him with that demon. He could not do it alone, not when the others died and left him alive. The lone survivor every time.

_You are going to do something for me. . . I’d call you ‘hero’ but that title doesn’t fit you, does it, inkling?_

Words still haunt him; they never go away. They whisper in his ears, a reminder of the sins he must live with, the sins he is trying to be absolved for. Will it ever be enough?

Shawn collapses to the ground, a concerned sound rising from the zombie as he places gentle hands onto the others back. From the emptiness comes quiet sobs, the hunter’s body shuddering, “Fockin’ hero. . . just like ‘em. . . just like Shepherd.” Just like all those heroes who fell to his hands. The demon was right, he is not a hero. He never wanted to be one, but people threw him into that situation. . . and he **failed**.

Attention suddenly snaps up, eyes narrowing—Robbie lets out a dangerous growl. Shawn composes himself, hissing, “What do you want?!”

“To have a little chat, inkling.”

Outside, Jameson stamps his foot, giving a stern and serious glare to Jackie.

“What?!” Jackie snaps, frowning when he realizes what he did, “Sorry. . . I didn’t mean to snap at you.” The gentleman continues with his stern look, tapping his foot on the ground with arms crossed over his chest; like a disappointed father getting ready to scold his misbehaving children.

He gives a silent huff, beginning to sign his words—somehow able to accident them with the anger burning in the pale blue eyes, ‘You do not bring up something like that! I know Shawn is hard to get along with, but he beats himself up enough already with that!’

The records of the raid on Dark’s hideout were sealed away, classified information. It was always odd that over time there would be obituaries for every hero that went on the mission every couple of weeks. Jackie made the connection, knew that they all died there, all except for Shawn Flynn.

“He was the arsehole who brought up my parents,” Jackie reminds. Now that he is reflecting on it, such a thing to say may have been a bit harsh. . . maybe he was wrong to bring up something like that. There had been no mention directly of his parents, just of his breakdown. It may not be common knowledge or knowledge that reaches out here of his parents’ fate. Shawn does not seem in the business of being a hero unless it involves the supernatural and gets paid enough. At least, he does not seem to be wanting to become a villain. But the likelihood of him knowing about the reasoning for the hero's breakdown would be slim.

Yes, Shawn touched on something that hurt Jackie, but he has come to terms with that time—he has learned from that moment and has understood why he acted that way. It will never stop hurting, but at least it is not crippling.

Maybe Shawn has not come to terms with that part of his life, or maybe any of it for that matter. Jackie doesn't know the details of the mission, perhaps something happened that have a reason for Shawn's bitterness.

His shoulders deflate, avoiding meeting the gaze of the dapper man. He fucked up. An apology is in order.

Jameson snaps his fingers, getting Jackie's attention back, shaking his head as if knowing what is being thought about, ‘Don't go back in. He will try to kill you if you do. Let us leave and give him time.’ The other calms a bit, gesturing to the car. Their journey was fruitless, not completely useless but not how they wanted it to go. The three look at the house before getting into the car.

A mental note is made to come back in time to apologize to the hunter. It would be better to have him as an ally rather than an enemy or an unhappy acquaintance. When the time comes, he needs as many allies as he can.

Jackie gives one last glance at the home before pulling out onto the street, “Now what?” Shifted into drive, he takes them down the road back towards the base, “That didn't get us anywhere besides pissing him off.”

‘He'll calm down, don't worry,’ Jameson signs, the motions caught in Jackie's peripheral, ‘It'll take a bit since Shawn can hold grudges.’

“What even got him so pissy about that anyway?” That's right, Chase wouldn't know about it. Being a civilian he wouldn't know about the raid nor the connections of the heroes and the obituaries.

“You remember that one villain running around, Dark?” Jackie pauses to get a nod of understanding then continuing, “Shawn lead a group of heroes out to that guy's base—turns out he was a demon—and even though they were successful, Shawn was the only one to return; everyone else died apparently. Nobody but Shawn and that demon knows what happened.”

Chase suddenly jumps a bit, an idea formulating, “Wait! What if we go to that demon for help with this other one?” This gets a look of deep concern from the hero, “Shawn said that this other demon was often at wits with Dark. There is a chance that Dark may want to get the other demon in trouble.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, Chase—” Jackie glances at his friend through the rearview mirror, “—but are you fucking crazy?! Dark is a high-class supervillain! He is a master of manipulating emotions. You are definitely not in the condition to be around him with everything you are going through.” Chase could be highly vulnerable to the demon's abilities. They can't risk Chase getting hurt or the worst-case scenario of the demon escaping.

Shawn would really kill him then.

Though. . . It may be good to at least try to see Dark. If Shawn is correct that the locked away demon was at wits with the free demon, then it could help. They have Chase who knows Marvin, so getting information on the magician's partner will be another advantage for them. 

And from experience of his own and others, they are going to need all the advantages they can get.

“First, text Mark and see if he can look after you—” he does not give Chase a chance to argue beyond a glance up from his phone, “—Chase, your kids are being held hostage, you just woke up from surgery not too long ago, you found out your best friend is a superhero and your other best friend has been kidnapped. You're in no condition to be meeting with a demon that is a master of manipulation.”

The other tries to argue, opening his mouth but closing it without a sound. Hard to fight such sound logic and a list like that. Sighing in defeat, he shoots a text to Mark, seeing if he is still up and if he could crash there for the night.

It is not uncommon for them to offer a place for Chase to stay. Most days he hates living in his apartment, too many memories of the past there, and often they would take him home to their place when finding him drunk stumbling home.

The text comes in a few minutes later.

**[Markiplhurrr]** Sure! Come on over. Chica would love to see you again!


	7. The Secret Deception

“Oh relax. No need to get so prickly and sick your pet zombie on me.”

Shawn stands up, hands curling into tight fists as Robbie slightly hides behind him.

“Hmn, never mind. I forgot your little friend is such a softy. Shame really. I heard such undead things can do a nice bite to an annoying hero.” The other grins, showing off the sharp canines, “But I could always change that.”

“Ye not gonna get close enough ta do anythin’ ta him!” In a swift movement, the hunter turns to the side. It is always wise to keep one’s home well stocked with ways of protecting one’s self. The main room has a rather nasty looking knife hidden away in a secret compartment in the coffee table. . . though when reaching for it his hand is only met with empty air.

Blue eyes snap back to the visitor, the glare deepening when he sees the weapon he is looking for in the hands of the other, “Fockin’ demons.” He shifts to standing straight, rolling his shoulders. The air is tense, the two exchanging their gazes while Robbie continues to shrink down behind Shawn. He is afraid of this newcomer and having a good reason to be that way.

“Tch, so rude.” A second voice hums, steps clicking against the wooden floor, “We haven’t done anything to you directly, and you have such disdain for us. It’s not like we are trying to harm you.” Yet. So, that was the bit of spark in the air that was felt. . . two intruders.

The first snickers, running his hand across the edge of the jagged blade, “Oh don’t you know, my darling, just because I ‘became a demon’ I have to die now.”

“Ye have ta die because ye **are** a demon—and been one ye **whole** life—and because ye have threatened m’ life on multiple occasions!” Shawn retorts with a snap, “Despite ye two sayin’ ye haven’t threatened it, ye have. I don’t care about whatever evil shite ye are doin’ ta te world, but ye have been threatenin’ me and m’ livelihood.” His expression darkens, sneering as he pushes Robbie further behind him, “And then ye threaten Robbie. I cannot just let that slide on by. Ye can’t take him, not ye magician, not ye demon. Fock off!”

“Just as you said, Marvin, so rude.” The demon snorts.

Marvin waves his hand, small trails of green-teal magic swirling through the air before dissipating, “Maybe we should have him play a bit nicer. . .” There is a sudden flash of teal, covering all their visions—gone as quickly as it came.

Shawn grimaces, lowering the hand that covered his eyes. Nothing seems off. . . expect now the magician is shuffling a deck of cards.

He levitates them, drawn from one hand to the other before they vanish into his sleeve.

He smirks, pulling one card out, “Let us up the ante.” A soft laugh escapes him, flipping the card around to show the face: the ace of clubs. . . on the front a rather frightened looking Robbie.

Attention snaps behind him, eyes widening when Shawn realizes Robbie is not there anymore, “What did you do to him?!” Marvin simply laughs in response, pulling another card out to add it next to the zombie’s card. The King of Hearts, a figure that Shawn vaguely remembers. Henrik von Schneeplestein. So, that is probably another reason that annoying hero was here—needing help to save his friend.

“Don’t worry,” Marvin dismisses the glare, pulling the cards back before they vanish once again, “He’ll be fine, of course. . . as long as you play along and don’t stray away. You are so ironic, inkling. You hunt down the supernatural like a hero, but you yourself are not something so human, nor a hero!”

Circling, the magician paces around the hunter, two-colored eyes watching him—his companion lingering in the shadows with the single green eye watching, “The reason why that other demon could do so much to you is because of what that Ink Demon did to you. Poor little Shawn drowned in ink. You are one of them—a little demon, an **inkling**. Ironic.” Then, after a full circle, Marvin steps back.

“But isn’t that something that makes you strive to do more?” The demon giggles, the glowing eye vanishing as the air seems to distort. Seconds later he appears right in front of Shawn, levitating a few inches off the ground, “Take down those like you to prove you are more, that you are not such a monster even if you are. That is why Dark had so much fun manipulating you. A glass canon if you will; so powerful yet so fragile.”

“How ta ‘ell do ye know about that?!” Shawn does his best to hold his ground despite the lump forming in his throat. He knows how these two work, and how cruel they can be. If it were the magician alone it would be easier, but both is challenging.

Anti could stand up against Dark, one who had embraced being a demon since his childhood, which is unsettling. Marvin is no pushover either, being in control of dark magic without decaying away his own body, and disguising it as natural magic is not an easy feat.

“Because, I decided to visit an old friend, and he told me allll about your encounter,” Anti coos, leaning back as he continues to float. Arms stretch behind his head, lounging in the air with a contempt expression, “Plus, I can see the stains on your soul from the ink demon, when you drowned. Did you know—” he giggles, covering the side of his mouth as if not wanting Marvin to hear, “—that you should have been dead, but part of the ink demon latched onto your soul so that's why you are still breathing now?”

“Shut up!” Shawn snaps, wanting to punch the demon in the face, but holds back for the moment—there is a chance that demon’s companion could hurt Robbie, “Are you here ta fockin’ mock me or ta make some sort of deal?!”

Marvin and Anti exchange a glance, both giving a wide smirk and grin.

Anti hums, a lazy glance to Shawn, “Fine, then let's get to the deal part—little Flynn doesn't like having a bit of fun.” A giggle rises at the venomous glare from the hunter, “You can get your little zombie friend back, after you do something with that little hero.”

A groan comes from the hunter, “Ugh, and what exactly do you want me to do with him?” If he could go the rest of his life without seeing that hero, he would die happy.

Even as a simple artist he was a bit of a troublemaker—making small little changes here and there to mess with the others. He was never one to be on the hero's side either. Any film or movie or show or game or book he always liked the villains better or any antihero that came around. Heroes are so cliché, so one-dimensional even in real life. They hide behind their gifts, flaunt it over those who are “normal", even if it is unintentional. Still, he always found himself irked at these people, how they had two separate lives, never crossing them.

He has nothing left so there is no need to hide his identity to ensure somebody does not die. Well. . . Until Robbie came into the picture. The zombie had been found right outside his home, lost. When Shawn had approached, instead of attacking Robbie became scared and tried to hide.

Despite the rough exterior, the hunter could not kill something that was not trying to kill him or others. No, somehow Robbie did not crave brains, rather seeming to be satisfied to chew on tea leaves or the pouches and munching on coffee beans—oddly disliking drinking coffee.

Sometimes, there are regrets for bringing in the zombie, and one of those moments are right now. At least if he were elsewhere, he would not be trapped inside a card by a magician, hanging in the balance.

“Nothing big, not like we expect you to make friends with him,” Anti muses, his feet gently touching the ground. A hand is waved nonchalantly, “Just need you to get him out of the city for a bit.” Beside the demon, the magician pulls out a vial, one that glows a sickly green, a bit of bright red weaved within.

“Just a little time away. I even gave you a reason to go out into the forest beyond.” Marvin grins wide as behind the house, deeper into the forest, a howl echoes out. He sarcastically places his hand over his mouth, “Oops, my bad. I guess I released one of the stronger ones. Might need a hero's help for that one.” The magician snickers before shrugging, “I bet you and him could take down the big scary creature. Nothing like taking down a demon.”

The last remark gets Shawn to grit his teeth, the glare deepening. There is no choice in this, not only because it is his job to stop unnatural creatures but also it is to save Robbie, “Fine,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “I distract te hero with yer little monster, and then ya return Robbie, **exactly** te way he was.” He knows this type; they try to find loopholes, anything to ensure they get the bigger part of the stick. Oh no, that is not going to happen with him, especially with another life involved in the mess, “No funny business otherwise I will make yer lives a livin' hell, more tan it is already.” He will rain hell upon them for the zombie.

Hands raise from both the demon and the magician. Marvin lowers his head, his mouth obscured by the cat-like mask—to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Of course. You do your part and I will return the little zombie to you, just the way he was.” The little undead is just a steppingstone in what they want.

He knows better than to anger the hunter. Such actions of the other have been secretly observed, studied to see if he would be a good subject. Each moment of studying brings up the fact the hunter is not as nice as the hero, steps away from embracing the fact he is an ink demon in the making. Oh, he has potential.

And he would be perfect for it. Not to mention his little zombie could be a nice prize as well. So many plans to make, but first they need this piece done. The hero must be distracted so they can do their work.

“What even is that stuff?” An eyebrow raises on the hunter’s face, noticing the vial in the other’s hand. It is something odd, having the scent of a potion mixed with magic—something brewed by the magician. Though, there is a hint of something else. Whatever it is, it is not good.

“This?” A gloved finger taps against the crystal surface before handing it off to the demon, “Just a little brew, nothing you need to concern yourself with. All you need to know is it is part of the reason we need you to distract the hero.”

Of course, they do not want to expose their plan. It is one thing when villains brag about their plans, but these two are too smart for that; they are arrogant, but also intelligent enough not to boast. Boasting would put their yet to be implemented plans in danger. Smart asses.

“Fine,” Shawn scoffs, brushing off that for now. Knowing how they work, he will know what it does in due time—but he will do nothing to stop it. Maybe this world deserves it for all the pain he has suffered, “Ye go do yer shite, and I will distract a stupid hero.” Turning, he swipes up the hunting rifle mounted above the fireplace, “Ye creature better not kill me, otherwise I'll haunt yer arse.”

Marvin snickers, “Don't worry, if you die, I can just reanimate you. Necromancy isn't that difficult.” So, the magician has even dabbled in necromancy. He truly has fallen far.

“Charming. . . Now, why don'cha get outta ‘ere so I can do this fockin' job.” The hunter shoos away the two, wanting them out of his house before he heads out to find the hero. They both exchange a glance before the magician bows his head and the demon simply giggles. One vanishes into a puff of teal smoke while the other seems to glitch out of reality.

“Fock.” Shawn curses, heading to the corner of the room to pluck up his axe, “I need ta fockin' retire, maybe then I won't be havin these bastards showin' up at m'door.” If only that was the case. Sighing, he pulls out his phone, delivering a text to Jameson.

[ InkyDreams ] ‘Get the hero back here I need his help’

“Here we go. . . Don't worry, Robbie, I'll get ye back.”

[ GoodOl’Chap ] why?

[ InkyDreams ] because that fuckin magician has released a damn creature

[ GoodOl’Chap ] o shit

[ InkyDreams ] Fucking language! >:c

[ InkyDreams ] Meet me at the southern edge of the forest, behind my house

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Shawn pulls the strap of his rifle around his shoulder and picks back up the axe. A glance is given back to the still open door at the other end of the room—to Robbie’s room. Thoughts cannot focus on that; he cannot focus on the failure. Focus must be given on the task at hand. Whatever those others are planning, he will do what is needed to protect himself and Robbie. He will distract the hero long enough for them to do their work.

“Nothin’ personal, hero.” Shawn grunts, heading out into the foyer, “’m just done playin’ hero.”


End file.
